Why is there always a crying baby within five rows of me? The last time I
flew I could swear that the air waitresses pulled a bunch of crying babies
from the overhead bin and placed them systematically throughout the cabin.
I'm torn. I want to call the flight attendant and ask for a glass of water,
but I don't want the stigma of being the guy that rang the call button.
Has anyone anywhere ever been saved by the oxygen masks?
I don't want to sit in the exit row. I can't take the pressure.
I don't understand these seat pocket catalogs. It's amazing... What is
it about being 35,000 feet in the air that makes me want to pull out my
credit card and buy a bookcase?
Thank Heavens, there's a priest on board. God won't let an airplane crash if
it's carrying a priest. Unless, of course, God's calling him home.
OK, if we crashed into the ocean, and we all ended up living on the
inflatable rafts which we bound together to create one strong floating colony
in the middle of the ocean, would I become King?
This is a 767. As opposed to a 777, 737 or 747. Why does everything end in
7? Do they purposely screw up the nine models in between?
The movies make joining The Mile High Club seem so glamorous, but these are
really small bathrooms.